I Paid My Father $250 in Rent Every Month for Five Years. After His Funeral, His Best Friend Gave Me a Key and a Box.

They said I should appreciate the roof over my head.

All those things might have been true, but none had helped on the nights I sat in my bedroom trying to remember my mother’s voice.

“You’re right,” Frank said.

“And he knew that, eventually.”

I put the photograph down.

“Eventually wasn’t soon enough.”